


Do you find me attractive?

by duchessofclarence



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:31:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchessofclarence/pseuds/duchessofclarence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabel drinks a little too much wine and ventures to her husband's bed chamber with a question on her lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do you find me attractive?

The festivities had been vast and full of mirth, with decorations that festooned the entire dining hall and wreaths of white roses that adorned each entrance. The two wooden tables were decked out with endless amounts of fresh and warm food; there was a choice of pork, pheasant and lamb with the usual array of vegetables. The silver glinted in the illumination of the many candles on the table and the wine flowed like a river for the entire celebration, and Isabel was never without a cup for the entire time. 

It could have been the endless sips of red wine that made her hazy or the exhaustion that came from the many dances that she participated in after the feast – but as she sat in her own chambers with her ladies maids, she knew that she would not sleep. It had been the first time that she drank to excess, for she often attended such festivities with her mother and father and they would be there to watch her like a hawk. However, this time, it was her husband who poured the crimson liquid and continued to cut little bits of meat and put them onto her plate. He believed in excess of all things.

“You must take off the gown to prevent wrinkles, milady,” one of them insisted.

Isabel rolled her eyes dramatically, something that she would have been spanked for doing if her father had been there to witness it. She rose from her comfortable chair to stand, but she swayed from side to side in an unbalanced fashion as one of her ladies assisted her to walk out of the dress that pooled around her ankles when unlaced. The other ladies maid had her night-gown in hand and pulled it over the Duchess’s head when she finally cooperated and lifted her hands unsteadily in the air.

“Is this my normal nightgown?” Isabel asked in confusion.

The ladies maid responded that yes, it was her normal nightgown, to which Isabel adamantly shook her head and protested that it couldn’t be.

“No, this one is much softer – it feels like a cloud!” she insisted. 

“It was washed just this morning, milady.”

Isabel looked at the two ladies maids with an expression of confusion, still pawing at the soft fabric of the white nightgown as if it were the most unusual silk. After a moment or so to ponder on what her ladies had said, she had to cover her mouth to halt a snort of laughter bubbling from her. 

“I suppose that _would_ make sense.”

The ladies maids curtsied and made to take their leave, both looking at each other with raised brows at the Duchess’s ridiculous behaviour. She had always been cold and collected at all times, so it was a treat to see her in such merry spirits. Isabel waited until the two maids had left, and then she scuttled over to the door and listened to them retreat to the servants quarters. The castle would be quiet at this time, and she could walk around as she pleased in her nightgown – a matter that excited her.

Her bare feet were cold on the stone floor as she left her private chambers behind her and wandered into the darkness of the castle; she felt like a child once more, in the midst of an adventure as she wandered around on her own. It wasn’t often that she was without ladies maids or someone or the other around her, so it felt like ultimate freedom to wander around in a mere nightgown. She paused outside her husband’s bed chambers, where she would often be summoned when she was needed, as both the Duke and Duchess liked their own privacy but often did delight in each others company when it was desired. Isabel pressed her ear against the door, in a mission to find out whether or not he was deep in slumber. 

The door creaked open and the humiliated Duchess leapt back into the hall, avoiding the confused but amused stare of her lord husband in his own underclothes. Isabel stood in her bare feet on the cobblestones, with her dark tresses looking wild and unkempt and her cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and too much drink. 

“I would have assumed that you would be deep in slumber at this hour.”

Isabel bit down on her lower lip as her mind raced to invent some believable excuse as to why she was stalking around their quarters in the middle of the night in nothing but a nightgown that was made of flimsy material; in which she could catch her death. It must have been the wine, however, that made her mind slower than usual. 

“I was making sure that you didn’t require my company,” she said indignantly and in a tone of confidence as she was rather pleased with her last-minute fib. 

“I shouldn’t require your company tonight, Isabel.”

George made to close the door to his private quarters and to return to the task of reading over letters that he had abandoned in order to partake in the festivities at court, but as he proceeded to close the door, he noticed that his wife did not move. Isabel stood as still as a statue in the midst of the hall, her mouth open like a fish out of water and her cold feet shuffling on the icy cobblestones. 

“Isabel, if you would care to come in, then do so and make haste,” he huffed. 

Isabel noted his tone of impatience and quickly scurried into the warmth of the room with her nightgown billowing behind her like a cloak in the wind. She immediately leapt onto the bed and fell back into a heap with the blankets creating a veil of warmth around her; she could feel her head spin with the mere action and she let out a giggle of merriment as her vision blurred and she saw two of everything. 

“You are drunk,” her husband noted with a smirk of amusement. George abandoned his letters at that moment and scrutinised his intoxicated wife with pleasure as she spread her arms out on the bed like a content child. It was such a scene that he would have never expected of Isabel – his well-mannered, proper Isabel. 

“No, I wouldn’t think so, husband. I had but one cup of wine, I promise.”

Her voice was slurred and stilted as she rose into a sitting position and proceeded to pat the spot next to her on the bed with a drunken smile. 

“Do come and sit with me, George, we must talk about certain matters.”

The Duke raised an eyebrow at the sudden serious tone that his wife acquired in that moment; it was the first time that he had ever seen her in such a state and he was amused at the mere fact that she denied her intoxicated state. He came to sit on the end of the bed with a smirk, tilting his head to the side as he examined his inebriated wife who seemed to find it a mere struggle to concentrate on his face. 

“I feel that we must talk more, husband, I would like to know about you,” Isabel said with assurance as she settled her hands on her lap with her head held high. “I feel that it is my duty, as a faithful wife, to know as much as I can about my husband.” 

George knew that Isabel would have never spoken like so in front of him, for she was reserved and detached when it came to matters of emotion. However, he found that drunken words were true words and he was curious to hear what true words would be muttered from his wife’s fine mouth that evening; he would want to know her true opinion of him although he wasn’t quite sure what it would be. 

“And what would you want to know, dearest Isabel?” he asked curiously. 

“I would want to know if you find me attractive,” she told him in a clear tone. Isabel was shaken now at her forward nature and sheer honesty; the mere exclamation seemed to sober her for a moment or so as she waited with baited breath for an answer that she wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to know or not. Her face fell, from merriment to wariness, as she realised how brazen she was with her lord husband. “Forgive me; I shouldn’t have come here like a foolish girl. I must have had more than one cup,” she said with a soft chuckle, as if trying to cushion the situation. 

Isabel was as quick as a fox as she moved from the bed and made for the door, but her husband was faster than her and blocked her path in a mere stride. His face was clouded with utter amusement as he stared down at his mortified wife. 

“I find that to be quite the silly question to ask, don’t you think?” he questioned. 

Isabel nodded her head; the mere action was enough to send her spinning in circles. She dismissed the dizziness and made for the door once more, but her balance had her walking towards the stone wall rather than the exit. George reached out with his firm hands and caught her by the shoulders before she permanently injured herself. He turned on his heel and marched her back to the bed before she passed out on his floor; he had to assume that this was the first time that she had ever _been_ intoxicated. He would consider himself an expert now, after his own escapades as a young lad. 

“You can remain here, I wouldn’t want you to cause harm to yourself in this state,” he said in his usual tone of indifference as he sat back down at the small desk that he had moved into his quarters. He was looking over his letters once more when Isabel rose from the bed and stumbled over to his desk, leaning on it in what she thought was a seductive manner. He looked at her with raised eyebrows as he leant back in his chair. 

“But _do_ you find me attractive, husband?” she asked once more. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Isabel,” he told her sternly now. His attention was back on the letters on his desk and she resigned herself to crawl underneath the covers of the bed and to find some slumber despite the fact that she was too giddy for words. 

♛

 

It felt like a lifetime later when Isabel felt the bed move and the covers ruffle, and then the touch of his cold feet on her own was clue enough that he was in bed now. She could feel him stretching his muscles as was often his night-time custom, and then he turned on his side and pulled the covers up to his neck. Isabel remained still where she was, furious that she was now awake and with that same frivolous sensation that she had beforehand. _When does this wine stop affecting me?_

“George?” she whispered. 

There was no response. 

“George?” she said again, but in a more urgent tone.

She heard an irritated grunt in response. 

“George?” once more she whispered into the dark. 

The bed moved as he turned around to face her, until she could see the whites of his eyes and the furious expression on his handsome features. 

“For God’s sake, what is it, Isabel?” he hissed in his usual impatient fashion. 

Isabel did it before she could even think about her actions; merely something that she _wanted_ to do for the first time in their marriage – something impulsive and exciting. She was as quick as a flash as she leant forward and pressed her warm lips against his; she had been lying in bed for the past hour, squirming with irritation over the fact that he husband would not answer the one simple question that she had asked. 

He looked at her with surprise written on his tired features when she pulled back from him, hair tossed wildly around her head and cheeks flushed and pink. 

“Isabel?” The Duke was never one to be lost for words, but this was the first time that his wife had ever made an advance towards him; she danced around on her tip toes around him half of the time in fear of his wretched tantrums. She would have never done this if she hadn’t the façade of confidence that the wine laced within her.

“I cannot sleep,” she answered in a perfectly innocent manner. 

“And so you choose to attack me in my delicate state of exhaustion?” he questioned.

“Do you not like it?” she asked with a small blush forming on her cheeks. 

George opened his mouth to answer, but Isabel looked away from him and turned on her side so that she faced the door rather than her confused husband. He sat there for a moment or so, wondering if he should reach out and comfort her or demand that she turn around and finish such a conversation with him. However, as these thoughts sifted into his mind, he could feel a movement underneath the covers and suddenly all thoughts of what he was to do next merely had escaped his mind. Isabel innocently pretended to shuffle on the bed to become more comfortable, but in doing so she may have touched a _sensitive area_ for her dearest husband. 

“Isabel, I have no idea what you are planning but…”

His sentence was cut short as she turned around to face him once more, and in doing so she clutched his hand and placed it on her thigh – bare and warm underneath the covers and as smooth as silk. Isabel touched his face; the chiselled line of his nose, the soft brush of his beard. She could still feel the buzz of the wine in her system, but she had never felt so very comfortable in her life as she lay there with her husband, leg wrapped around him in a possessive manner and foreheads almost touching. 

“You never answered my question,” she told him firmly. 

“I thought the answer was obvious,” he responded in a second. 

“I don’t want to disappoint you. I never want to,” she confessed in a hushed tone, almost as if she were talking more to herself than to him. She didn’t want to be the kind of wife who would lie there like a statue when with her husband; she found herself taken away in moments of passion before but still the thought ran through her mind: _what if he does not like me very much?_

“You know that I am not very good with words,” George said desperately. 

“Try,” she insisted. 

“I do find you attractive, Isabel. Satisfied?”

“Tell me what you find attractive about me,” she commanded. 

George looked like he could have reached out and smothered her at that moment; his over-confident wife who was still under the influence of various cups of wine. She looked at him with such a smirk on her pretty features; he wasn’t sure whether he liked her as the submissive wife that she often was in public company, or if he preferred this daring Isabel with her mischievous eyes. 

“I like your hair when it is down like this, wild and dishevelled. I like how you wrinkle your nose in distaste and how you hold your chin in the air like a Queen that this country would be proud to have upon the throne. I like how you’re not afraid to scold me when I am in a foul temper. I like, in particular, these lips of yours…”

The Duke leant forward in his usual keen nature, to capture her lips in a kiss that would match the passion and surprise of the last one – Isabel, however, had other ideas as she turned her face away from him and quickly removed herself from the bed with a smirk that she hid from her perplexed husband. 

“Oh, you see, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she exclaimed in an innocent tone as she made for the door with a mischievous chuckle on her lips. Isabel felt so much freedom in that moment – she felt like she could say what she wanted and do what she wanted and if she wanted to run around in her nightgown then she would do so! However, she could not make such an escape from her possessive husband as she felt strong arms around her waist and she was pulled back onto the plush bed. 

“I didn’t tell you that you could leave, Isabel,” he warned her with a raised eyebrow. 

“I didn’t ask!” she retorted with a drunken chuckle. 

“Oh, is that so?” George looked less than impressed as he matched her own expression of trouble as he reached forward and clutched her hips. Isabel could feel her face burn with excitement when she realised that he had found her sensitive spots; he had once touched her hips before and received numerous squeaks in response. 

“No, please don’t do that!” she pleaded with him. However, he was not to be swayed as he ran his hands from her thighs to her waist; tickling his fingers carefully across the bare skin there. Isabel squirmed with desperation as she tried to escape from her fiendish husband, but he held onto her until she was red in the face from giggling. 

“George?” she asked, breathless and dishevelled. 

Her husband hummed in response, moving her dark tresses from her face. 

“I think I have come to love you, very much,” she murmured in soft tones. 

The tension was so thick in the room at that moment that it could have been cut with a knife. There was silence between the wife and husband, neither of them knowing what to do or talk about to break the strain between them in that minute or so. Isabel could feel her face become ashen with concern and it was like she was sobered up in a mere few seconds as she stared up at her husband; his expression unreadable. 

“What did you say?” he muttered, almost inaudibly. 

“I think that I…” She could not finish what she was about to say once more, for George reached forward and took her face in his hands – she could not read his features in that moment as he leant down and kissed her face. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her lashes, and finally her still lips. 

There were no words exchanged between them for the near future, for George refused to part from her soft lips and Isabel squirmed underneath her husband as warmth spread through her entire delicate form. She would have expected to be thrown out after such an awkward confession, but instead he kissed her as if he would never be able to kiss her again. His hands were soft on her body for once, handling her as if she were a feather as he slowly raised the nightgown over her until it was removed over her head and tossed aside for it lacked importance in that moment. 

Isabel had brief experiences of passion and warmth with her husband; as their private times with each other had been robotic and arranged. She had never come to his bed chamber and he had never come to visit hers in search of comfort, for he would let his wife know in advance when he would require her. However, this situation, it was not one that she was accustomed to but one that she imagined other men and woman experienced when they fell in love before their marriage. George and Isabel didn’t have such a chance and instead were thrown together; she could not deny that she cared for him and adored him completely. He never treated her badly and respected her wishes for the most part, and that was what Isabel was told was happiness. 

But as she kissed her husband in that moment, tangling her delicate fingers within his soft hair, she realised that she had missed out on something _else_. It was spontaneous, it was passionate and it was…emotional. George could not reply to her sudden confession, but instead used actions to express what he could not – he did not resent her as other men resented their wives, but did care for her in some manner, and that was enough to cause true happiness in the Neville daughter’s heart. 

She watched him undress with such curiosity – she had never witnessed it. Her husband had always been undressed when she was required; but this was intimate. Isabel noticed that he was particular in how he removed his shirt, revealing a firm stomach and those familiar tufts of hair on his broad chest. She watched as his shoulders rippled when he removed his under-trousers and she was in utter love – she could not deny it now. It was that awful smirk of his, the confident way in which he grinned at her and how he would consume her. _George Plantagenet, you will be the death of me. Is this how it feels? Happiness?_

George approached the bed once more, stepping out of his disposed underclothes. Isabel moved from her position so that she could crawl across the warm covers to meet him at the foot of the bed; throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her forehead against his – listening to his ragged breathing. 

“Sit down, Isabel,” he insisted, touching his nose with hers just once. 

She sat down at the foot of the bed, her legs dangling off the end. George took that moment to kneel in front of her, his eyes sparkling with sheer mischief. He leant forward and took his wife’s pale breast in his mouth, eliciting a soft squeal from the recipient of such an action. Isabel had never experienced such passion inflicted on her own body, for she was often the one who aimed to please her husband. However, George was taking his time in that moment to ravish his mischievous wife. 

Isabel could feel her hands tremble with sheer enthusiasm, for never before had she felt such aroused in her husband’s presence. His mouth was soft and his kisses were warm and moist as he touched and caressed her other breast with his rough, calloused hands whilst he sucked tenderly on the one that was in possession of his mouth. 

She could not comprehend what she was to do in this situation; for her mother had never informed her of what she should do in these moments of passion, she was merely told that it was a husband’s job to take his fill and often a woman would not experience such a climax in their marriage bed. However, Isabel could feel warmth pool between her legs and knew that this would be a very different matter. 

“I’m…not sure what I should do, husband,” she told him with a blush; it was evident that she was keen to please him as much as she could and felt rather guilty that her beloved husband was ravishing her as if she were a goddess. 

“You do not do anything, my dearest, you merely enjoy.” 

George took that moment to look up at her with a smile – a true smile that she had never seen on his handsome features before. He looked just as he did as a child, when he would come and visit his brother at Warwick Castle; innocent and foolish with his dark hair and his softer dark eyes. His kisses soon descended onto her stomach, drawing out childish giggles from Isabel. However, nothing could have prepared her for the next experiment that George conveyed upon her. 

Isabel had closed her eyes for a minute or so, revelling in the soft kisses that her husband pressed onto her bare skin. She was not primed for the sudden kiss that she felt on a very sensitive area; she could hardly believe that one could do such a thing. Her lashes fluttered open immediately as she looked down at her husband. 

“George!” she exclaimed, unsure if she should scold him or praise him. Her entire body shook with desire as she imagined his touch there once more. 

Her husband could only laugh in return, dismissing her shocked exclamation as he parted her legs once more with a confident smirk. It wasn’t often that he would emit such pleasure for a woman, and he would never have assumed that Isabel would be an experimental wife of such, but she did surprise him that evening. Isabel’s head lolled back as her husband resumed with such an unspeakable act; the sensation of his moist kisses on her womanhood made her tremble as beads of sweat formed on her brow. He continued with such an act for some time, but Isabel knew that she was on the brink of _something_ – she wasn’t sure what it was, but she felt ready to burst. 

Isabel wasn’t sure how her husband did this, for it was almost as if he knew exactly where to touch on – it was like each time he flicked his tongue, she almost fell from the bed and to the floor with absolute pleasure. It was nothing that she had ever experienced before and she wondered if this is what the King and Queen were like: forever experimental and different all the time. She wanted this: all the time. 

It was with one final twist of her husband’s tongue that sent her over the edge; she could feel all of her limbs constrict at that moment as she clutched onto the covers as if it were her last thread of life. It felt like a wave of pleasure had washed over her and she was left feeling so utterly refreshed and shaking for _more_. 

“How on Earth did you know how to do that?” Isabel asked, shocked, after she finally regained her breath and was able to mutter few words in response. 

“You wouldn’t want to know, my dearest, but I am pleased that at least it could bring such pleasure to you,” he answered, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it. 

George rose from the floor and stretched in front of her; she watched as his muscles moved underneath his skin and she could feel her mouth water once more. It was not a side that she saw much of with her husband, but she was ravenous for more. 

Isabel reached forward and took his hand, her delicate fingers linking with his as she pulled him towards her and onto the bed. Her husband did not complain as she reeled him in her direction, her soft hands on his warm skin. No more words had to be spoken between them now, because both looked at each other with sheer hunger. 

This time, however, was different. He would not yield to the norm and instead of having his beautiful wife beneath him, he would prefer to _look_ at her this time – he wanted to see her, to feel her, to experience her. George laid back on the bed, his head touching the feathered pillows. Isabel was like an enchantress as she crawled over her husband’s lean form; her limbs moving with deliberation as she leant down to press soft kisses to his neck and throat – earning small grunts of pleasure for her efforts. She was thin and tall, and often could be considered as awkward to others, but she looked graceful now – poised and ready to pounce at any second. 

George touched her face, her neck, her breasts, her waist – he was mesmerised. She was often shy and detached in their private moments together but now she was burning with such desire that her previous fears were cleaned from her mind. He could see each of her curves from the dim light that emitted from the hearth. Isabel was aching for more of him; she couldn’t deny it. She gently lowered herself onto him; her mind racing with desire as she welcomed his manhood into her – she was in control this time and the mere thought of it was exhilarating to say the least. 

Her breath was uneven at this point, before she had even moved, for she trembled with anticipation as she felt his rough hands on her sides, sliding along her sweat-covered skin and making her shiver excitedly. His touch was enough to spur her movements as she took in his entire length with eagerness; his hands supported her as she moved on him – her hips rolling to meet his gentle thrusts. 

It was different this time – more than different. It was not rushed, it was slow and deliberate. Her movements felt automatic as she did what her body told her to do; she could look down at her husband – head rolled back on the pillow with his mouth open in sheer ecstasy at the continuous, slow rolling of her hips. She felt more than drunk – she knew that the wine had worn off her at this point and all foolishness went with it, but she was so intoxicated with desire in those precious moments of movement. 

She could not comprehend how long she lay in bed with George; for it felt like blissful hour after hour as they would roll around into a different position. He would toss her onto the plush pillows and replace her own rolling hips with his slow thrusts, or he would raise her into a sitting position so that he could lean forward and taste the sweet flavour of her lips with ease. It felt like her hands would never become bored of touching him – his face, his hands, and his shoulders, all of him. 

It was some time later that both of them came to a blissful end; her husband covered her with the warmth of his body, possessive and protective at the same time – both of them drunk with the company of each other. It was with one final thrust that warmth filled her, from her head to her toes. Her body stretched out underneath him in sheer contentment and she had never felt more fulfilled than in that moment. 

They lay side by side afterwards; their hands touching lazily.

“Isabel?” he murmured into the darkness; he could but see her face in the orange glow that came from the fire at the other side of the bed chamber. 

His wife hummed in response, too exhausted and delirious to answer.

“Isabel?” he insisted. 

She rolled her eyes and turned her head on the pillow to look at him. “Yes?”

“Do _you_ find me attractive?” he asked with a smirk. 

“I thought that answer would be obvious, husband.”

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to note that there could be a few mistakes in this piece as I hate to read over my own work, even in university, so do let me know if you find any. I would also like to note that the reason that I made Isabel kind of drunk in this was because I found it amusing at the start and I know that George would have been interested to see this other side of her. I also feel like Isabel wouldn’t have been able to confess to him that she loved him without a bit of fake confidence around her. I also didn’t make George tell Isabel that he loved her back; because I’m not sure that he did at this point in their marriage. However, his actions expressed how much he was deeply affected that someone else truly loved him in this world: it made him happy and he wanted to make her happy at the same time. Do let me know what you think, I love receiving feedback! :]


End file.
